


My Little Brother

by LadyKailitha



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Post Reichenbach, Scenes from the series, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:24:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKailitha/pseuds/LadyKailitha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft mourns the loss of his brother and remembers the times they had. The good and the bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Again pre-beta.
> 
> Love Mycroft and wanted to look inside the the mind of one of the most mysterious characters on the show and what he means by all the little hints he drops about the childhood he shares with Sherlock.

Hello, my name is Mycroft Holmes and today I lost the most important person in my life. Today I lost my brother. 

***

My relationship with my brother started out like all siblings. He came into my world through no desire of his own. But I was a happy only child. My parents called me into my mother's sitting room one rainy day in April. My mother was sitting in her favorite chair and my father stood behind her looking so proud. 

I stood at the door unsure of what they could possibly want. My mother extended her hand to me and moved closer until I could reach out and take it. I looked at our joined hands, her small slender hands covered my little boy hand gracefully. But then my mother was always graceful no matter what she did. 

She tugged on my hand gently, drawing me close. Once I was close to her, she drew me up on her lap. She pulled me close. 

"You aren't in trouble Mycroft," she whispered in my ear. The lead weight in the pit of my stomach was gone. 

"Certainly not, my boy." His father clasped me on the shoulder and I felt even better.

"We haven't something exciting to tell you," my mother told me.

"Yes Mummy?" My voice squeaked a bit. 

"You are going to have a sibling." 

I couldn't contain my excitement. I would have someone to play with. They sent me off with a happy smile. But I was a bright enough child to my own research. And came to the conclusion that it would be useless. At least for the first three years. I sighed. I had no doubt that with my parents money they would hire someone to look after the baby's daily needs but it was the screaming that concerned me. I was resigned. There was no help for it. I would be getting this thing whether I wanted it or not.

However, some nine months later, I was standing with my father looking down at the child in my mother's arms. I took after my father in looks. Straight brown hair, round face and if I wasn't careful a bulging waistline. I knew the second I laid eyes on him, that he would take after our mother as he was thin, with a mop of dark curly locks. When he opened his eyes, they were a startling shade of blue. 

"Mycroft," she said. "Meet your little brother Sherlock." I walked up to them and smiled down at this helpless creature, that she had called my brother. I knew I would spend my whole life striving to protect him. Little did I know how deeply I would fail. 

***

I watched on the monitor as it showed me the limping form of one Dr. John Watson. He called a taxi but it whizzed past him and he grunted in frustration. It was time. I started ringing the first phone he passed but stopped when someone else tried to answer it. So next I tried the phone box. He looked at it and then stepped into it and answered. After I had made sure he was aware I could see him from every angle I told him. "Get in the car Doctor Watson. I could make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you."

When he arrived, he looked different then the broken man I had seen in the low resolution of the monitor. 

"Have a seat, John." I pointed to the chair I had them put out for the Doctor with my umbrella. He walked toward me limp evident.

"You know, I've got a phone. I mean very clever and all, but uh you could just call me. On my phone." He stopped a good distance from me. 

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet. Hence this place." I lifted my umbrella to indicate where we were. "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down."

"I don't want to sit down." He glared at me and I realized that this is going to be far more interesting than I had originally thought. 

"You don't seem very frightened." I goaded him. 

"You don't seem very frightening." came the curt reply. I laughed. 

"Yes the bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" I failed to get a rise out of him so I pressed on. "What is you your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him" he stopped to think a moment, "yesterday." He looked away from me. 

"Mmm and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together." I could tell he was straight as they come but I prodded at his manhood. "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

He glanced up at me. "Who are you?"

"Just an interested party." I refused to tell him my name. Why spoil the fun?

"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him how many friends do you imagine he has?" I take a deep breath. This was painful to admit. "I'm the closest thing to" I looked down and tapped the floor with my umbrella anything to avoid looking him in the eye, "a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?" I looked up. "An enemy."

"An enemy?" 

"In _his_ mind, certainly. If you ask him he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

He looked up and to the left. "Well thank god you're above all that." He looked me in the eye. His phone goes off and he pulled it out to look at it. 

"I'm not distracting you am I?" I was seriously annoyed.

"Not distracting me at all." As he spoke he looks back and forth between me and the phone before he put it away.

I fiddled with my umbrella angrily. "Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

He looked away, "I could be wrong but I think," he looks up at me, "it's really none of you business."

"It could be."

"It really couldn't." He shakes his head at me.

"If you _do_ decide to move into um" I pulled out my book of information on all sorts of things. "Two-hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis," I put the book away. "To ease your way."

"Why?"

"Because you aren't a wealthy man." I looked around briefly wondering how he could be so dense.

"In exchange for what?"

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?" He did say that word an awful lot.

"I worry about him. _Constantly_."

"That's nice of you." The sarcasm was evident. 

I looked down, this was becoming more tedious than it was worth. "But I would prefer, for various reasons that my concern goes unmentioned." I looked up as brought my umbrella up and I examined the tip. "We have what you might call call a" I put down my umbrella so I could look at him, "difficult relationship." Again his damn phone went off and without even looking up at me he said, "No."

"I haven't even mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother."

"Your very loyal very quickly." I told him.

"I'm really not. I'm just not interested." I pulled out the little book for the second time.

"Trust issues it says here."

"What's that?" I ignored him as I flattened out the page.

"Could it be that you have decided to trust Sherlock of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?"

"It says you're not the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done?" And finally I looked up at him.

"You tell me." He stared at me and then turned and walked off. I put the book away.

"I know that people have already warned you to stay away from him but I can tell from your left hand that isn't going to happen." He whirled around to face me. 

"My what?" He was starting to get very angry. 

"Show me." And then I waited him out and he put up his left hand. I strolled over to him and attempted to grab it. He moved it away and said, "Don't." I gave him my best older brother stare and he let me touch him. 

"Remarkable." I told him as I let go.

"What is?" I turned away from him as I spoke.

"Most people blunder around this city all they see is streets and shops and cars," my back still to him I continued. "When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield." I turned to him. "You've seen it already, haven't you?" I was enjoying myself far too much. 

"What's wrong with my hand?" 

I looked down at the offending object. "You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." I looked up to his see him nod. "Your therapist thinks it post traumatic stress disorder. She thinks that your haunted by memories of the war of your military service."

"Who the hell are you? How do you know that?" He was rather distressed but I pressed him further. 

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfect steady." He looked down at it briefly. "You're not haunted by the war Dr. Watson. You miss it." I leaned forward and whispered. "Welcome back." I walked off twirling my umbrella. "Time to chose a side Dr. Watson." I said as my girl went to go take him home. 

I smiled when she texted me that not only had he directed them to Baker St. but that he stopped to pick up his service pistol.

***

When Sherlock was five I had gained entry in the most prestigious high schools in Britain and left that howling infant behind. Sherlock, my mother told me in my first letter from home, cried for days. But what did I care? I was going to be the best and brightest, smarter than al the rest. And if I kept up my studies I would be in Oxford in three years. 

One day when I came home for the Christmas holiday, I found him running around the house with a sword, an eye patch and completely barefooted. 

"Sherlock." I said as put my hand out for him to stop. He skidded to a halt in front of me.

"Shouldn't you be practicing like mummy said?" I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for his reply.

"I am practicing!" He told me, his voice chipper. I raised an eyebrow incredulously. "I'm practicing to be a pirate when I grow up!" I rolled my eyes. 

"Do you even know what pirates _do_?" He looked at me, like he was saying 'of course'. "Oh? Enlighten me."

"They go on adventures, sailing the high seas, fighting monsters and getting treasure." Again I rolled my eyes.

"Not even close Sherlock," I told him and he rolled his eyes. "They rape, pillage, and steal. And then when they are done they burn the remains." I saw the sword fall as it clattered to the ground, his blue eye grow wide, and his jaw dropped to the floor.

Not five minutes later, I could hear the mournful scratching of the violin, which he should have been practicing to begin with. But went and saw my parents and the nanny that had been taking care of Sherlock was fired and a new one hired to take her place. Clearly all she was doing was plopping Sherlock in front of the TV while she did other things. Where else would he have gotten the erroneous information on pirates? 

***

Upon hearing that my brother had been in danger I went rushing over to that damn college. As I got out of the car, I heard Dr. Watson say, "Sherlock? That's the man I was talking to you about." I wanted to roll my eyes. John clearly couldn't keep a secret. I made mental note of that. 

"Oh I know exactly who that is." We moved toward each other like caged tigers.

"So another case cracked. How public spirited. Though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?" I almost sighed. 

"As ever I'm concerned about you." I ignored the nervous looks John was giving Sherlock and me. 

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'." His voice dripped with bitterness. 

"Always so aggressive. Did it ever occur to you that we belong on the same side?" Sherlock leaned to the side and then back to punctate his words. "Oddly enough. No."

"We have more in common that you'd like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer." I looked down and shook my head. "And you know how it upset Mummy."

" _I_ upset her? Me?" John was now starting to get confused looking back and forth between us. "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft!"

"No. No, wait" he almost moved between us as if to intercede. I looked up and then back to Sherlock as John said, "Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

Sherlock answered first. "Mother. Our mother." We both looked to John to make sure he understood. "This is my brother Mycroft." Sherlock looked back to me. "Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it in fact."

John looked at Sherlock in shock. "He's your brother?"

"Of course he's my brother." What else would I have been, I wondered. 

"So he's not" He looked as though his next words sounded ridiculous even to him.

"Not what?" Of course Sherlock would want to know. I didn't. I knew it wasn't going to be good. My worst fears were realized. It was worse. 

"I don't know a criminal mastermind?"

Sherlock smirked. "Close enough." I rolled my eyes and rushed to correct Sherlock before John got any erroneous ideas.

"For goodness sake, I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He _is_ the British government. When he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." I looked down disgusted at his childish display. "Good evening, Mycroft." I looked up amazed that he was being civil. "Try not to start a war before I get home- you know what it does for the traffic." Spoke too soon apparently. Sherlock walked off and it seemed as though John would follow him but he turned back.

"So when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned?" Dear heavens what was this man thinking I was?

"Yes, of course."

"It actually is a childish feud?" He seemed to be having a hard time grasping these concepts. 

I curl my lips in concern. "He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners."

"Yeah" he seemed distracted as he looked at Sherlock and then realized what I said, he retracted his previous statement. "No. God, no. I betterum" he saw my PA and said, "Hello again."

"Hello," she barely glanced up from her phone. 

"Yes we met earlier this evening."

"Oh!" She sounded so surprised.

"Ok." Clearly he had given up trying to get her number. "Good night."

"Good night, Dr. Watson." I watched as they walked off chatting like old friends. 

"Shall we go, sir?" She indicted the car. 

I nodded John's direction. "Interesting, that soldier fellow. He would be the making of my brother" I hissed through my teeth. "Or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their status. Grade 3 active."

"I'm sorry, sir. Whose status?" God sometimes she was so dim. I wondered briefly if I should get rid of her. But decided it would take up too much time training a new one. 

"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson."

***

Christmas time at Darkwood Manor, the ancestral home of the Holmes family, was never a fun time and this year seemed worse than ever. 

Sherlock had still be smarting from my comment about pirates and I wondered what he would choose as his next profession. Whatever it was I knew that it would not be normal. 

Sherlock was getting under foot and I decided he needed a game to occupy his mind. "Sherlock," I called. "Come here!" He looked up briefly and then made a mad dash for the garden, in shorts and a t-shirt no less. Apparently he had decided that his game would be more fun than whatever I had planned for him. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my coat and his and made my way slowly through the kitchen doors that led out to the garden. 

"Sherlock!" I called as I put on my coat. I looked around and knew exactly where he had gone. The foot prints in the snow led to the rather large planter that held Mummy's prized rose bushes. Sticking out one side was a bit of his shirt that had come untucked. I strolled straight to it pulled him up by his shorts. He screamed his frustration.

"If you are going to be out here at least wear your coat." I handed it to him. But he shook his head. 

"For god's sake Sherlock put your coat on!" He stared at me stubbornly. I tried to put his coat on by force and ended up wrestling him to the ground. Soon we were wet and cold and Sherlock still didn't have his coat on. I threw the coat at him and stormed off. I had changed and made my way down to lunch and there was no sign of him. I asked one of the maids if they had seen him but they hadn't. 

The house was in an uproar. When he was finally found, he was nearly frozen solid. The maids and Mummy took him off to get warmed up, while I got a dressing down from my father.

"Your one job Mycroft! Your one job is to look after him! And you couldn't even manage that!" 

"But father!" I protested. 

"Enough Mycroft. You are seven years his senior, you should know better."

"I tried!" I protested again.

"Try harder.'" The cold glare I got silenced me forever on the topic. 

I was sent upstairs without lunch and I went to go peek in on my little brother before resigning myself to my room. He was sound asleep. I walked in and sat down on the bed. 

"Why did you have to be so stubborn?" I blamed him for this mess. It was his fault. All of it. The being in the cold without his coat. Not taking it to keep warm. The lying there for hours when he could have come in at anytime. The dressing down I had gotten from father. It was all his fault. I got up and stalked out of the room, an angry line arching its way up my back. 

As I opened the door i thought I heard a soft mumble, "Serves you right." I whirled to face him but his back was to me. I turned and slammed the door behind me. 

At dinner I made comments and deductions about the guests. And he tried so hard to keep up. I laughed when he got it wrong and scoffed when he got it right, telling him an infant could do better. 

My brain moved faster than his and I enjoyed the look of confusion on his face when he couldn't keep up. 

***

I couldn't understand how he kept getting into these messes. This time he nearly got blown up. Again I went dashing over there to make sure he unharmed. Under the pretense of giving him a case of course. 

"Sherlock," I said I entered the now shattered flat. He looked up at me he was actually dressed and playing well more like "fiddling" with his violin. I moved to sit in the chair opposite. 

"That's John's chair." He growled at me pointedly. I sat in it and crossed my legs. 

"Well he's not here, so what's the harm?" He glared at me. 

"Why are you here Mycroft? More pointless concern?" 

"I'm here for a case actually."

"No."

"I haven't even told you what it is." This was starting to sound familiar. 

"I don't care."

We glared at each other until we could hear hurried footsteps and the panicked voice of John calling Sherlock's name. 

"John," Sherlock finally called at the second panicked call of his name and he plucked away at his violin. I looked up to see John look about the room in utter amazement at the sheer destruction. With John in the room Sherlock seemed more willing to start back up our previous conversation.

"Can't." he told me.

"Can't?" or _won't?_

"Stuff I've got is too big, I can't spare the time." Again he plucked at his violin. I knew he did it to annoy me.

"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance." Sherlock ignored me and plucked the string one more time before gently thumping on the strings. 

"How's the diet?" I knew he's trying to get me off the topic.

"Fine." I told him and turned to John. "Perhaps you can get through to him John."

John who was more interested in the destruction of his home than our petty squabble looked up confused. "What?"

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent." I told him.

Again Sherlock plucked that same infernal note. "If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" I hear the clap of John dusting off his hands and I wave Sherlock off.

"No, no, no, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so" I stopped as I noticed the keen interest from both John and Sherlock. "Well, you don't need to know that do you? Besides, a case like this requires" I sneered, "legwork." Again with that damn note. John rubbed his neck, drawing the attention of Sherlock.

"How's Sarah?" he asked his flatmate. "How's the lay-lo?" I pulled out my phone to check a message and without looking up I utter, "Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa." I put my phone away to see Sherlock look at his flatmate again.

"Oh, yes, of course."

"How" John starts and then trails off. "Oh, never mind." He sat down on the couch.

"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became" I looked for the right word. "pals." I changed tactics. "What's he like to live with? Hellish, I'd imagine."

"I'm never bored." I thought back to our first meeting, the thrill seeking Doctor and the near constant need for the battlefield.

I grinned at the memory. "Good. That's good, isn't it?" I stood to hand Sherlock the file but he whipped his bow down defensively and glared at me. I walked over to John, knowing he would take it. "Andrew West. Known as Westie to his friends." I handed him the file and as expected he took it. "Civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea station this morning with his head smashed in."

"Jumped in front of the train?" The medical man was coming out.

"Seems the logical assumption." I informed him. 

"But?" he asked. I was taken back.

"But?" I asked in return. 

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was an accident." Sherlock laughed once. All right so John wasn't stupid. 

"The MoD is working on a new missile defense system, the Bruce-Partington Project, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick."

John chuckled. "That wasn't very clever."

I scowled at him. "It's not the only copy."

"Oh."

"But it is secret. And missing."

"Top secret?" he asked as he looked up from the file.

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You've got to find these plans, Sherlock." I looked down at him. "Don't make me order you."

"I'd like to see you try." He brought his violin up to tuck in under his chin.

"Think it over." I told him and then I walked over to John and stuck out my hand. "Good-bye John." He stood to shake my hand. "See you very soon." Sherlock began playing the same horrible note as I made my very hasty exit.


	2. Chapter 2

The next two years became hellish. The feud continued to get worse. I was trying to protect him but he would push me further and further away. And I suppose there must be some fault to be had on my side, as my methods weren't exactly normal. But there was once my methods paid off. It was the day I learned I couldn't protect him. I thought that I could at least stop some things but I couldn't even do that. It was the day I learned what the school boys thought of Sherlock. 

I received a message from Sherlock's school. I had been made his de facto guardian at fifteen. They could never reach my parents traveling as they were now that Sherlock was at boarding school. I made my way to the dean's office and asked to use the phone for a family emergency, unaware how dire the situation actually was. 

"Hello?" came the female voice at the other end. 

"Yes, hello. This is Mycroft Holmes, I told someone called about my brother Sherlock." There was silence on the other end.

"Mr. Holmes, your brother is in the hospital." came the voice after what felt like an eternity. 

"What happened?" I figured it was something Sherlock had done. After all before he had entered school he was always getting into one scrape or another. 

"Three of the older boys beat him with rebar." My heart went cold. _Rebar?_ I couldn't believe what I was hearing. 

"And what will become of the other boys?" I asked the next logical question. 

"I'm not sure I know what you mean Mr. Holmes." 

"I _mean_ how will they be punished?" 

"They were provoked according to them and witnesses. Your brother had been saying nasty untrue things about the other boys. Things that should not be tolerated. I'll grant you that the rebar was a bit excessive but really who tells another boy his mother is cheating on his dad with head dean?" 

I blinked. Sherlock wouldn't lie. So he had found out somehow and told the other boy this.

"I will be pulling my brother from your school and hope to find one better." I made the last word a slur and hung up. I asked if I could borrow a phone book from the secretary and she gave me one. I took it from her hand gingerly and flipped to the hospitals. I looked up the first on the list and while I waited, she said to me, "Mr. Holmes I happened to overhear is he all right?"

I looked at her and said, "That's what I intend to find out." The phone finally rang through. "Ah, yes. Hello, I'm looking to see if you have a patient there named Sherlock Holmes. No? Thank you." I moved to the next one and tried again. I was starting to run out of hospitals when I finally heard, "A seven year old boy came in today with that name, yes. Who is in inquiring?"

"I'm his older brother Mycroft and guardian while my parents are away."

"Not much of a guardian, if his wounds are anything to go by" 

"Oh? I haven't been informed. I was merely told by his school that he in the hospital. They didn't even tell me which one."

"Head contusions, two broken ribs, a broken arm and a twisted ankle. He said the ankle was from him trying to get away from them." I closed my eyes, it was worse than I had feared. 

"How long will he be in hospital? When I can I see him?"

"We'll be keeping him at least three days for the concussion. You can come see him anytime you like." 

I looked up at the clock and calculated the time it would take me to get there. "I can be there in two and a half hours, will I still be able to see him then?" I knew they had visiting hours. 

"Yes, you'd have about a hour to visit him."

"Good." And then I hung up. I looked up at her, "What is the policy on missing days for family emergencies?"

"Uh you get three days off for funerals, I know but let me check on non-death related emergencies." She turned around and ruffled through the papers on the desk behind her.

"Ah here we go" she scanned down the list. "Yes, it says you get a week off and can make up any tests or assignments missed upon your return." I nodded and ran back to my dormitory. I gather up enough things for a week left a note to my professors and my roommate and dashed off to the train station. 

That two hour train ride was awful. I could barely think. I ran into the hospital and demanded to know what room he was in. The pointed down the hall and hurried to the room that held my baby brother. 

I could see through the glass and what I saw sickened me. They had done their best to clean him up but blood and mud still matted his curly locks. One of those brilliant blue eyes was swollen shut. His arm was in a cast and the binding on his ribs showed through the top of the shirt. 

I slowly opened the door. "Sherlock?" I called out softly. He moved his head to indicate he knew I was there and then he turned away in shame.

"I'm here Sherlock" He reached out his little arms to me and I stepped into them. I put my arms carefully around his fragile body. 

"Sherlock" It was all I could think of to say. 

"They called me a freak, Mycroft. What is a freak?" I looked down at him.

"Someone that isn't like normal people, someone different."

"Why am I different?" Only Sherlock. He didn't say 'I want to be normal', he asked why he different.

"Because you are a Holmes and that is always something different. But not all different is good." He nodded and a tear slipped down his cheek. I took his uninjured hand in mine. 

"You wan to hear something I learned recently? They were all shocked I didn't know nursery rhymes. But this one should amuse you" he nodded carefully to avoid the ringing bells that must be going off in his head. 

"Round and round the garden like a teddy bear" I traced my fingers around his palm. "One step, two step" and I marched my fingers up his arm. "And I tickle you under there." I tickled his underarm which was about the only place he wasn't bruised. He laughed.

"Thank you Mycroft."

I did move him to another school but it was always the same. My brilliant socially awkward brother would always be bullied. They would call him many names but the one that seemed to stick was 'freak'.

***

I kept texting Sherlock hoping to annoy him into submission. My mouth was killing me and I couldn't stand the pain so I went to the dentist. And I had to have a root canal. Which made me testier than normal. So I texted John. I hoped he would appeal to Sherlock. He had this power of my brother that I had never seen. Even Mummy couldn't make him do something he didn't want to do. 

But John John was changing him. When I was finally able to get back to my office I was pleased to see John was seating there wait for me. I was a little distressed at the choice of clothes he wore. It looked horribly tacky. He stood when I walked in.

"John, how nice! I was hoping it wouldn't be long. How can I help you?" I shifted through my mail and nothing seemed too important. I waved vaguely behind me to indicate that he sit. 

"Thank you. Um I was wanting to um your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans- the missile plans." I finally look at him, the look of astonishment clearly written on my face. 

"Did he?" I utter softly. 

"Yes, he's investigating now.. he's uh investigating away." I leaned against my desk as I noted that John is a _terrible_ liar. I rub my cheek. It still hurts but I can't resist the urge to smirk. "Um I was wondering what else you could tell me about the dead man." 

I leaned forward, gathering my thoughts. I straightened up and folded my arms in front of me. I decided to humor him. Clearly Sherlock had sent him to get me to stop pestering him. And I knew that he wasn't looking into the case at all but perhaps John would get him interested if he had more information. 

"Er Twenty-seven. Clerk at Vauxhall Cross," at his look of confusion I smirked. "MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington program in a minor capacity. Security checks A-Ok. No known terrorist affiliations or sympathies. Last seen by his fiancee 10:30 yesterday evening."

"Right so he was found at Battersea, yes. So he got on the train?"

"No."

"What?"

"He had an Oyster card" I hissed in pain and rubbed my check before I continued. " but it hadn't been used."

"He must have bought a ticket."

"Hmm there was no ticket on the body."

"Then"

"Then how did he end up with a bashed in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question- the one I was rather hoping that Sherlock would provide an answer to. How's he getting on?"

"He's fine. And it's going very well. He's um.. he's completely focused on it." He flashed me a smile in hopes that his charm would convince me of this. But John

John was a terrible liar.

***

The next year we learned why our parents had been traveling the world. Mummy was sick. More than sick. She was dying. She had a rare form of cancer and they had been trying to find anything that could cure her. They were not successful. They weren't sure how long she had but it was clear, she would never live to see my graduate from Oxford. 

The following year they had sent her home from the hospital, they said she didn't have much longer. 

Sherlock was trying to learn a new song for her but it was screeching and horrible. I was trying to homework, to stay on top it so I could stay at Oxford. I finally was at my last nerve. The note screeched through the air for it's last time. I strolled into his room.

"Stop it! Stop it now! I can't think with all that noise!" He looked up at me and then an evil grin spread across his face and began playing God Save the Queen. Deliberately off key. 

"Stop it! Mummy is trying to rest!" If he wouldn't do it for me maybe he would stop for her. 

"I'm learning it for Mummy. She said it was fine!" 

"She was lying! It makes her head hurt but she didn't want to hurt your feelings. So she lied!"

"No she wasn't. Mummy would never lie to me! You're the liar!" I grabbed the violin and threw into the fire. 

"No!" He screamed. He went scrambling to pull it out but it was too late. It went up surprisingly fast. 

He threw himself at me biting and kicking and screaming. Our father came in and pulled him off me. But before he could ask what happened I stalked off. 

That afternoon was spent looking for Sherlock. My father made me go find him. And then he told me that he was grounding me for a month. Maybe two once he could get one of us to him what happened. 

The sun was starting to set when I dragged him home by the scuff of his shirt. I had found him examining the dirt outside the garden comparing the different types of soil. 

I was about to throw him at our father's feet when I saw the expression on his father. He looked ashen. 

"Is it mummy?" I asked letting Sherlock drop to the floor. 

"Mycroft come with me. Sherlock follow Maria, she will take you back to your room, where you will stay. Do I make myself clear?" Sherlock nodded mutely and he followed the maid to his room. I waited until my father beckoned me forward he led me to where the police nattered around. 

"Police?" I asked, confused. "Why would there be police?"

The Inspector looked up from his notebook, with a small sneer. "Standard procedure for suicides." 

"Suicide?" I couldn't believe it. Mummy wouldn't take her own life. She couldn't. 

"She was found with a note and an empty bottle of her pain medicine." And whatever light was left in my heart died. I could feel it leave. My face became cold and distant. 

"I see." The look on my father's face was one of sadness and yet something else. It almost seemed like pride. Why would he be proud of me? It wasn't until years later that I understood. I had become a man in my father's eyes that day. He had started trusting me with more things. Teaching me how to run a household, teaching me politics and world events. I think he was grooming me to take his place. 

The funeral was a quiet one. With only her closest friends and family there. That was also the last time I saw Sherlock cry. 

***

I walked in to the two of them laughing like children.

"Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?"

"We solve crimes. I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. I wouldn't hold out too much hope," John said, his wit coming out again. 

"I was in the middle of case Mycroft." Sherlock whined.

"What the hiker and the backfire? I've read the police report. A bit obvious."

"Transparent."

John looked over at Sherlock amazed.

"Time to move on, then," I moved to pick up his clothes and handed them out to him but he stared up at me stubbornly. I sighed "We are in Buckingham Palace the heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes put your trousers on!"

He shrugged "What for?"

"Your client."

Sherlock stood. "And my client is?" Just then Harry walks in. His timing, as always impeccable. 

"Illustrious, in the extreme." I put the clothes down on the couch to greet my friend. "And remaining, I'll have to inform you, entirely anonymous." He turns to greet me. "Mycroft."

"Harry." And we shook hands. "May i just apologize for the state of my little brother?"

"Full time occupation I'd imagine. And this must be Dr. John Watson, formerly of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers." 

John looked pleased that they know who he was. "Hello, yes." And they shook hands.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog." 

"Your employer?" John was hoping to getting Harry to slip up and say who it was. But he was far too clever so such simple tactics.

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch."

"Thank you." He looked to Sherlock as if to say 'I told you so.'

Harry moved closer to stand in front of my brother. "And Mr. Holmes the younger, you look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat and short friend." John looked offended by the cutting remark, surely he must be use to them by now. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm use to mystery at one of my cases, both ends is too much work." He turned to Harry and said, "Good morning." He started to walk off but as the tail of his sheet passed by me, I deliberately stepped on it causing it fall off my brother's shoulders. He flailed wildly and managed to barely keep his dignity intact. 

"This is matter of national importance. Grow up!"

"Get off my sheet!"

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away."

"I'll let you."

John interceded, stepping toward me. "Boys, please not here."

"Who is my client?" Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

I rolled eyes. "Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for god's sake! Put your clothes on!"

To this day I still don't think that Sherlock got dressed for me or for the client. I think he got dressed because John disapproved. He had been willing to keep the sheet on as long as _John_ thought it was funny. But as soon as John expressed a worry about it he changed.

The maid brought tea and I poured. "I'll be mother."

"There is a whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock's voice drolled. 

I glared at him as I put the kettle down.

"My employer has a problem." Harry informed them.

"A matter has come to light of the most delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need dear brother your name has arisen." I told him.

"Why? You have a police force of sorts even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?"

"People come to you for help don't they Mr. Holmes?" Harry inquired.

Sherlock stopped to think, "Not to date anyone with a navy."

"This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust." I told him.

"You don't trust your own secret service?" John asked.

"Naturally not. They all spy on people for money." I smirked.

"I do think we have a timetable." Harry warned me off that line. 

"Yes, of course." Sherlock looked interested now that Harry seemed worried. "Um" I said as I opened the briefcase." "What do know of this woman?" I handed Sherlock a picture and Sherlock sat forward off the edge of the couch to take the photo.

"Nothing whatsoever." Recognition failed to light my brother's features. 

"Then you should be paying more attention. She's been at the center of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately." 

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?"

"Irene Adler, professionally known as the Woman."

"Professionally?" John asked.

"There are many names for what she does, she prefers 'dominatrix'."

"Dominatrix" Sherlock said almost tasting the word.

"Don't be alarmed, it has to do with sex." I told him

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

I scoffed "How would you know?" Hurt and anger flashed behind Sherlock's eyes. But I couldn't take it back. Not in front of Harry. "She provides shall we say recreational scolding for those that enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website," I handed him more pictures from the briefcase in an envelope. 

He pulled them out and went through the pictures quickly. "I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs." 

"Very quick Mr. holmes."

"Hardly difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?"

"A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say anymore at this time."

"You can't tell anything?" John asked as Sherlock tossed the photographs on table.

"I can tell you it's a young person. A young _female_ person." I explain.

"How many photographs?" Sherlock asked as he sat back

"A considerable number apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?"

"An imaginative range we are assured."

"John you might want to put your cup back your saucer now." Sherlock told him. John did as he was told with only the barest questioning glance.

"Can you help us Mr. Holmes?" Harry asked.

"How?"

"Will you take the case?" he asked.

"What case?" Sherlock looked down at photographs and back up, "pay her now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead know when you are beaten," he reached around to get coat. 

But he stopped when I said, "She doesn't want anything. She got in touch, she informed us the that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor." I frowned I didn't understand what she wanted. 

"Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain." He raised eyebrow appreciatively, "Now, that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock" John warned.

He placed his palms flat against each other and then pressed the fingers against his lips and murmured excitedly. He grabbed coat, "Where is she?"

"Uh, in London, currently." Sherlock stood as I continued, "she's staying"

"Text me the details, I'll be in touch by the end of the day." He said as he strolled for the exit.

Everyone stood. "Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry asked, clearly disbelieving." Sherlock turned back buttoning his suit coat. "No I think I'll have the photographs."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think." Harry's voice was dripping with scorn.

"I'll need some equipment, of course." And he looked to me. 

I looked down at my feet and then back up, thinking. "Anything you require, I'll have it sent over."

"Can I have a box of matches?"

"I'm sorry?" Harry looked confused.

"Or your cigarette lighter, either will do." And he held out his hand free hand to Harry.

"No, I don't smoke."

"No I know you don't, but your employer does." John looked confused as Harry reached into his pocket to pull out the lighter.

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm not the commonwealth," he said as he took the lighter.

"And that's as modest as he gets." John informed Harry. "Pleasure to meet you." He said as he followed my brother out of the room.

"Laters!" Sherlock called in an accent not his own.

John looked back briefly and I rolled eyes. Why did he have to be so tedious?

***

After the funeral was the biggest fight that I recall us ever having and my memory is impeccable. And it was over Mummy of course. My father was wrapping up things with the lawyer and somehow the staff never heard us. Or perhaps their were simply tired of our fighting and chose not to intervene this time. 

"You stupid little freak!" I shouted at him.

"Don't you dare!" He screeched back. "Don't you dare call me that!"

"Well it's what you are! Even for a Holmes you're abnormal. Freak!!" 

"It's all your fault!" He screamed back at me. 

"Like hell it is." I scoffed, folding my arms. "If you hadn't been playing that infernal thing while I was trying to do homework, she would still be here!"

"I was learning it for her. She asked me to learn it so she could hear it once more before she died. And now because you burned my violin, she wasn't able to hear it! I almost had it Mycroft!"

"Like hell you did. It sounded like cats in heat."

"You take that back!" He flew at me in rage and I hit him back. We were snarling and tearing at each other. This went on for sometime until a knee to his gut caused him to go limp in my arms. I pushed him away with a grimace. I stood up and spat out blood. I checked my tooth. It was a little loose but nothing too bad. Nothing I thought I needed to see a dentist for. 

I looked down at his limp body and resisted the urge to kick him. I wiped my chin of blood. I looked around for something to wipe my hand on but there was nothing in sight and then I looked down at the state of my clothing. They were ripped in several places blood and dirt covering spots. I didn't even know whose blood it was. I ran my hands over my body and realized the only blood I had came from my mouth from his initial strike. 

Which meant the blood was his. I turned him over. I was only defending myself, I thought weakly. His nose was bleeding and he had a cut on his cheek. His arms and what little I could see of his chest was starting to turn purple. I winced. I had a few bruises of my own but this

This was almost like that first time with the boys and the rebar. I lifted him up. He stayed limp. I carried him up to his room. I laid him gently in the bathtub so that I could tend his wounds. I went and got a med-kit. I took it up to his room and set it on the toilet seat next to the bath. I carefully removed his clothes. I winced with every bruise and cut that revealed itself on his skin. 

I had done this. I had done more damage than all those boys put together. And I was suppose to protect him. I could feel an ache in my chest. My stomach twisted and I fought to choke down the bile in my throat. 

When I finally had him stripped I carefully wrapped up his clothes and took them to my room. I changed my clothes and took all but a small piece of cloth that had torn from his shirt that was covered in his blood and burned the rest. I took the cloth and tucked it under my pillow. 

I dashed back to the bathroom. He was still laying there limp. I pulled down the shower head and began rinsing off his body of blood and dirt. Once he was clean I began putting on anti-septic, grateful he wasn't awake to feel this. I carefully wrapped his cuts with clean white bandages. 

I gently prodded his ribs but it didn't feel broken. So only bruised then. I wrapped his ribs too. I went to his room and got his pajamas and brought them back to the bathroom. I dressed him, slowly and carefully, like he was made of glass. Once he was dressed I lifted him up and took him to his bed. 

I moved to leave, but I looked back and in the glimmering light I thought I saw a tear glisten on his eyelashes but as quickly as it came it was gone and I couldn't be sure I saw it all.


	3. Chapter 3

I was enjoying a nice quiet Christmas at home having declined several offers but I just wanted to be by myself. After the years of noisy, hateful Christmases it was nice to enjoy the solitude. My phone rang and I knew exactly who it was. 

"Oh dear lord, we're not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we?" I stood and looked out the window. "Have they passed a law?"

His voice on the other end seemed hallow. "I think you are going to find Irene Adler tonight."

"We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters."

"No," he told me. "I mean you're going to find her dead." And then he hung up on me. I turned away. I texted John to call me when Sherlock left he flat. 

"So I heard. Is she really dead?" No hello, how are you? 

"Ever straight to the point, John." I sighed. "I'm not sure. I called around and found one that may have matched her description, I've sent it over to Barts."

"Oh. Is that why Molly left? I thought it was because Sherlock stormed off after finding that gift on the mantlepiece."

"No, she was the only on call tonight." I paused but forced myself to say the words. "John, I'm worried. I'm afraid he might resort to drugs or cigarettes tonight."

"Well, the cigarettes aren't too bad. But the drugs yeah I see your point." He paused for a minute. "What do you want me to do?"

"Search all his usual hiding spots, make sure he can't get to either one tonight."

"Ok. But what are you going to do?" 

"I'm going to offer him a cigarette."

"See if he's upset enough to take it? See if he's vulnerable enough to go that route tonight?" He didn't sound pleased with the plan. 

"Exactly."

"Good luck." He sighed resigned. 

"You, too." I hung up and stared down at my phone.

I met Sherlock at the doors of the hospital and we walked in together. As we entered the morgue, I explained, "The only one who fitted the description. Had her brought here, to your home away from home." We walked up the body to where Molly Hooper stood on the other side. 

"You didn't need to come in Molly," Sherlock told her. 

"It's okay, everyone else was busy with Christmas." She waved her hands over the body. "The face is a bit bashed up, so it might be difficult." She pulled back the sheet from the face. 

"That's her isn't?" I asked him. 

"Show me the rest of her." He said, voice gone cold.

Molly pulled back the rest of the sheet and he quickly glanced her over. "That's her." And with that he strolled out of the room.

"Thank you Miss Hooper." I turned to leave but she stopped me. 

"Who is she? How did Sherlock recognize her from not her face?" I merely smiled at her and left. How could I explain that she was one of those people that showed off her body to anyone and everyone, really? I exited to find Sherlock merely looking at out the window. I walk up and hold the cigarette out to him.

"Just the one." I told him.

"Why?" his tone was suspicious. 

"Merry Christmas." I hedged.

He took the cigarette and held it up to his lips. "Smoking indoors, isn't that one of those one of those law things?" I lit the cigarette.

"We're in a morgue. There is only so much damage you can do." Sherlock took a puff. "How did you know she was dead?" I asked.

"She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. And she chose to give it up."

"Where is this item now?"

Sherlock turned to look down the hall and I followed his glance. Down through the glass in the door I could see a family mourning the lost of their loved one. 

"Look at them they all care so much." He paused and glanced at me. "Do you ever wonder that there is something wrong with us?"

"All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage" I paused and looked at him, wanting to call him dear brother but it didn't seem to fit with the not caring lark, so I finished lamely, "Sherlock." 

Sherlock turned to sneer at the cigarette in his hand. "This is low tar."

"Well," I shrugged. "You hardly knew her."

"Huh." He stalked off. "Merry Christmas Mycroft."

"And a happy New Year." I called after him. Once he disappeared through the double doors I called John. 

"He's on his way. Have you found anything?"

"No. Did he take the cigarette?"

"Yes."

"Shit." He turned briefly to speak to Mrs. Hudson. "Well looks like he's clean. We've tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight's a danger night?"

I walked toward the exit, "No but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John."

"I've got plans." I rolled my eyes.

"No." I paused before the door and hung up. I strolled out knowing full well John would stay with Sherlock. Look after him like I never could. I heard later that Jeanette broke it off with him because he needed to stay with my brother. If she couldn't help being jealous during a time when even normal people would have stayed then she had no business dating someone as caring as much John in the first place. 

***

I graduated from Oxford at the bright young age of nineteen. And I was immediately picked for an internship at a local government office. I couldn't have been more thrilled. Sherlock on the other hand.

My twelve year old baby brother had started to throw things. At the wall mostly. But sometimes he would aim them at me. The lamp was a particular loss. 

"Sherlock!" I called as ducked a flying book. I looked at it as it slid to the floor. Common Sense by Thomas Paine. I wished Sherlock would have a little of that right now, I thought as I straightened up. 

"You can't!" He screamed back. "You can't leave!" His voice was starting to squeak. "Don't leave me with him!" He didn't have to say who he was. I knew. 

"He's not so bad now. He goes to work and actually notices that someone's in the room." 

"I don't care!" He pick up a vase and I threw my hand up. 

"Not that! That was mummy's! She gave it to me!" He looked at it and a cruel light entered his eyes. 

"Mummy gave me that violin too." His voice was a harsh whisper. I gulped. He let it drop from his fingers and the crystal shattered on impact, it's pieces skittered across the floor. I closed my eyes. 

"We are even now, Mycroft." His tone held a dangerous edge. Where was the little boy that came running after the other boys teased and hurt him? I looked into those harsh cold blue eyes and knew he was gone. 

"Sherlock" my own voice held a dangerous edge of its own. "That was extremely childish." 

"But I am a child Mycroft." 

"Doesn't mean you should act that way." I chided. 

"How should I act? Like you? All important in everything. Must be smarter than everyone else. Better. Not caring who I step on to get my way. Is that who I should act like Mycroft? Or should I act like father?"

"Sherlock" I tried to warn him off that path but he went down it anyway.

"He wanders around unable to think or eat or drink because she died." 

I closed my eyes. "Act however you wish." When I opened them again he was gone. 

***

_\- A jumbo jet. Dear me, Mr Holmes, dear me. -JM_

I stared at the message for a moment unsure if I understood it correctly. How did he know? Who could have told him? I put my head into my hands. There was only one person that could have figured it out. But how did Sherlock get ahold of the information? I sat in silence as the waves a despair wash over me in torrents. 

It came me to me in pieces. The MoD man, Irene Adler, Jim Moriarty. My stupid lonely brother. I'm not sure when my valet put the drink down by my elbow. But I took a long slow sip, trying to understand what had happened. If only I hadn't dragged him into this. 

I should have known that he would be easy prey for someone as skilled as her. She had brought one of the most powerful families in the world to its knees without a thought, how could I think that Sherlock could withstand that? Because I knew I could. But I had relationships before. Sherlock had never had a girl interested in him simply because he was clever. 

Girls went after his looks and then were turned off by his mouth. Deducing away like their feelings didn't matter. And then here came Irene Adler, sent to tempt and sway him. Give him a puzzle and watch him dance. He fell for it. He had no defenses against her charms. 

I was willing to bet even John would have seen through her in the end. But Sherlock never gave him the chance. I had heard about the little ploy she pulled with John and how John stood up for Sherlock, forcing her to tell him she was alive. John was willing to overlook whatever misgivings he had about her because he thought Sherlock was interested in her. 

Dear loyal John. And it became the downfall of a plan that had been set in place for so long. We could have done it. It nearly worked in Germany. I was sure this one would have been perfect, no mishaps. No bodies found in boots of cars. 

One line of one email and we were done. I sighed. It was time show Sherlock what being clever had done. I sent my man out again. This time with a boarding pass. In his name. 

***

After his fifth school transfer I decided to take matters into my own hands. I pulled him out of school for a year. He could afford to lose it. He had high marks in everything. Even if you couldn't get him to repeat it afterwards. Except in chemistry and anatomy. He liked those. But he was still constantly bullied. 

I brought him home and had the maids clear out on of the larger guest room and put in athletic mats. My waistline was starting to become horrendous and I figured we could both get some use out of this. I could loose the weight and he could learn to defend himself. 

He stubbornly stuck his hands pockets as he walked into the gym room as I would start calling it after that day. 

"What's this all for, Mycroft?" His voice was starting to crack as he entered manhood. 

"For you mostly, though I do plan to get some kind of benefit from it."

"Meaning you're fat." I rolled my eyes. 

"And you need to learn how to defend yourself. You will learn three things. Fencing, because it is a gentleman's sport and it will teach you grace, to control that rapidly growing body of yours."

He nodded appreciatively and I forged on, "Next will be boxing as most of the bullies you face are brawlers and learning how to dodge and fight back will deter even the most determined of bullies."

He took his hands out of his pockets and tucked them behind him as he was interested now.

"And finally a form of martial art known as bartitsu which will combine the two pervious styles to make them more fluid."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "I've heard of that, it's cane style fighting that was popular at the turn of this century."

"Very good, Sherlock."

"No one uses it anymore, so why teach it? And there's not much use for carrying around a cane unless you're old or invalided."

"Ah but what is a cane but a simple piece of wood. The night stick or an umbrella would serve as well." I stopped to think "Yes an umbrella would serve rather well in fact."

During that year, I dropped nearly forty pounds and Sherlock gained muscle on his lithe form. Once he was back at school I assumed I wouldn't be getting anymore phone calls from schools. I couldn't have been more wrong. 

"Mr. Holmes?" I knew that tone.

"It's about Sherlock isn't it?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. Your brother broke a boy's finger."

"Miss-"

"Haroldson."

"Miss Haroldson there is something you must understand about my brother. He was been bullied his whole life and there is no way that he would hurt someone who hadn't tried to do him him harm."

"That's what he said. But-"

"But nothing Miss Haroldson. You have his school transcript- read the damn thing!" I hung up. But I made sure to be there when school got out. He saw me and looked around for an exit. Finding none he walked my direction. 

"Gaining weight again, Mycroft?"

"Very funny Sherlock. I heard you to got into fight again."

He looked behind him and then at his feet. "He stole my chemistry book. He was going to cheat. I tried to take it back but his friends tried to stop me. I merely slipped by them and well I didn't mean to break it. I'd never tried twisting someone's finger before." He looked ashamed. 

I looked at him strangely. I saw a bit of pipe in the gutter. I went to pick it up. I looked at it a moment, testing its weight. I returned to my brother.

"Sherlock, I want to you to try and bend this." He scoffed at me.

"This stupid."

"Humor me." He rolled his eyes and took the pipe in his hands. With what appeared to be very little effort on his part he bent it in two. He stared at it shocked. 

"I- I-"

"That is what you did to that boy's finger only bone isn't as strong as steel." He dropped the pipe as if it was hot. He took a step back. And then two. And then he was running. I sighed. I bent over to pick up the discarded pipe. I looked at it and then straightened it back out before tossing it back where I found it. 

I feared for my brother's strength now. I was an adult that had worked for years to learn that trick because it was a trick. But he- he did it the first time. He really was that strong.

***

I entered the plane to find my brother frantically searching the passengers. 

"The Coventry Conundrum. What do you think of my solution?" He continued to look around. "The fight of the dead."

"Plane blows up midair, mission accomplished for the terrorists, hundreds casualties but nobody dies."

"Neat, don't you think?" I told him. "You've been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages. Or were you too bored to notice the pattern?" I watched as he frowned in confusion and some of the pieces fell into place for him. "We ran a similar project wit Germans awhile back. I believe one of passengers didn't make the flight. But that's the deceased for you, late in every sense of the word."

"How's the plane going to fly? Oh, of course, unmanned aircraft, hardly new."

"It doesn't fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email and months and years of planning," I shrug trying comprehend how it happened, "finished."

"Your MoD man." He still didn't get it. He still didn't know it was him. 

"That's all it takes. One lonely, naive man desperate to show off and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

Sherlock scoffed. "You should screen your defense men more carefully."

Finally I snapped. "I'm not talking about the MoD man, Sherlock! I'm talking about you!" I slammed my umbrella down to enforce the point. "A damsel in distress. In the end are you really so obvious? Because, this was textbook." I take a deep breath to try and calm myself. "The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption. Then give him a puzzle and watch him dance." I twirled my umbrella nervously. 

"Don't be absurd!" He scoffed. 

"Absurd?" He must have been being deliberately obtuse. "How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute? Or were you really eager to impress?"

From the shadows behind Sherlock I heard her say, "I think it was less than five seconds." Sherlock whirled around.

"I drove you into her path. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Mr. Holmes," she purred walking forward. "I think we need to talk."

"So do I." Sherlock told her. "There are quite a number of things I'm not clear on."

"Not you junior, you're done now." She brushed past him. "There's loads more. On this phone, I've got secrets and pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother." 

I didn't bother looking at Sherlock. I already knew the hurt, shock and shame that was now etched into his features. 

***

That was the school he ended up graduating from. My father even took the time to show up. But instead of the usual graduation gifts, pens, briefcases, a car, anything like that my father gave him a coat. In the middle of July. But it was beautiful. The most amazing thing I had ever seen. It was a dark charcoal grey of the finest wool. It was a bit too big for his slender frame but as he put it on, he stood a little straighter.

College brought new torments for my brother. The bullies no longer used force. They used ostracism techniques instead. Excluding him from things. But now my brother was a handsome young man. And for the first time he had girls throwing themselves at him. Not that he understood what they were doing. 

We were having lunch. He hated these but I forced them on him at least once a month when he finally got into a school that he could stay at all those years ago. I kept them up through his college years because he didn't seem very well adjusted even as an adult. He had no social graces and seemed not to be able connect with people at a personal level. 

We were ordering and the waitress was pretty red head with freckles on her nose. And she flirted with Sherlock as though he was the last man in the world. He smiled at her but it was tolerant smile. Once she was gone he turned to me. 

"Was she flirting with me?" He asked. I blinked. Well at least he recognized that she had been. 

"Yes. Didn't you find her pretty?" I certainly had. 

"Yes of course her features were pleasing." My eyebrows shot up.

"Pleasing? You didn't find her attractive?" My voice threatened to crack and I cleared my throat. 

He frowned. "No." I was genuinely surprised. "I mean, she has a boyfriend. It was on her bracelet. And she is a cheerleader and a stereotypical one at that. All bubble no substance." I looked her over again and saw the same things he had but that shouldn't effect her attractiveness and I told him so. 

"They all have so much needs and wants. Hell Seb, my roommate, his girlfriend demands so much of his attention that his grades are dropping faster than his fly when she's around."

"So you aren't interested in girls. So what about boys?" He looked at me confused. 

"Why would I be interested in boys, if I wasn't interested in girls?" Dear god, he really didn't understand.

"Gay?" I made my meaning clearer.

"Oh. No. I'm not gay either. Sorry. I just-" He looked away. 

"Sherlock what happened?" My voice booked no argument. 

"I tried having sex."

"Tried?"

"As an experiment. All the boys in the dorm kept going on how fantastic it was so I tried it."

"And?" I was curious, I'll admit.

"Apparently one needs to feel attraction to have sex and I couldn't get it up." I could feel his shame.

"There are drugs that can be used" I started but he just shook his head. 

"I give up Mycroft. I'm not like everyone else. I don't want to be. I will abstain. It doesn't interest me anyway. It seems like a rather messy ordeal. Physically and emotionally."

I decided to change the subject. "How are you classes going?"

"My professors hate me. I'm far too clever, they tell me. They also don't like being told about their personal lives that I read on their clothes. My dorm-mates find me annoying. I could tell who was shagging whom. Like I cared."

"Is there anything that makes you happy Sherlock?" His eyes lit up. 

"Yes, I was doing our deducting game at orientation and one of the fathers told me it was clever. Had me read him. He's the chief inspector in one of the outlining cities. He told me I had the mind of detective. I don't want to be a cop. But a detective like those silly shows my nanny use to watch. But far more clever." I could hear the excitement in his voice. 

"How would you get paid?

"Oh who cares! It's interesting! I've tried solving cases before."

"Yes I am aware you tried to get the police to investigate the Carl Powers case further."

"He had to have been murdered, Mycroft. Where were his shoes?" 

"It wasn't important enough to the police, Sherlock so it shouldn't be important to you. Besides you just said you didn't want to be a cop."

"Not a cop. A detective." I shook my head.


	4. Chapter 4

I found myself at Darkwood Manor for the second time that day. But unlike the terrible solitude and realization of complete failure, I had company. I would have preferred the other to be honest. Irene and I sat at the table as Sherlock sat in a chair away from us. Brooding. 

I tapped the phone. "We have people to get into this." I told her. 

"I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock try it for six months. Sherlock dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera-phone?"

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing. I suspect containing acid or a small amount explosive. Any attempt to open it burn the drive."

"Explosive," she purred. "It's more me."

"Some data is always recoverable." I informed her.

"Take that risk." She knew she was winning.

"You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."

"Sherlock?" She called.

"There will be two passcodes, one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there would be no point in a second attempt."

"Oh, he's good, isn't he?" she asked me. "I should have him on a leash. In fact I might."

"We destroy this then. No one has the information."

"Fine. Good idea. Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."

I raised my eyebrows. "Are there?"

"Telling would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore." She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. "A list of my request and some ideas about my protection once they're granted." I opened it and began reading. "I'd say it wouldn't put much of dent in the wealth of a nation but I'd be lying." My eyes went wide at some of the things she was requesting. "I'd imagine you'd like to sleep on it?"

"Thank you, yes."

"Too bad." I looked up at her and Sherlock scoffed. 

"Off you pop," she told me, like I was her pet, "and talk to people."

I sighed. "You have been very thorough. I wish our lot were as good as you."

"I can't take all of the credit. I had a bit of help." She turned to Sherlock. "Jim Moriarty sends his love."

"Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention which I'm sure can be arranged." I made a mental note to have my people bring him in as soon as possible in fact.

She stood up, "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank god for the consulting criminal." She half sat on the table talking to Sherlock. "Gave me a lot advice on how to deal with the Holmes Boys. Do you know what he calls you? The Ice Man and the Virgin. Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that's my kind of man."

"And here you are, the dominatrix," I stood up, "who has brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played."

"No." Sherlock's voice rang out in the small room. 

"Sorry?" Irene inquired.

"I said no." He turned toward us. "Very, very close but no." He stood up. "You got carried away. The game was too elaborate, you were enjoying yourself too much." He walked over to her. 

"There's no such thing as too much." She cooed.

"Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine." He moved closer to her. "Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely. But sentiment?" My brow furrowed in confusion. "Sentiment is a chemical found in the losing side."

"Sentiment?" Irene scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"You."

"Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

"No," he whispered as he grabbed her wrist, "Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated." He reached behind her and grabbed the phone from the table. "I imagine John Watson thinks love is a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive." He walked away and she followed him. Now I was interested. My brother was close, I could feel it. Sherlock turned around.

"When we first met you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you. The combination of your safe, your measurements, but this-this is far more intimate." He flipped the phone. "This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head." He hit the first key with force. "You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for." He hit the second key with the same force as the first. "But you couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love was a dangerous disadvantage." He hit the third key the same as the other two. "Thank you for the proof."

Irene reached up to stop him from hitting the final key. "Everything I said, it's not real. I was just playing the game."

"I know." He hit the final key, "and this is just losing." He held up the phone and everything became clear. The screen read I AM S-H-E-R LOCKED. Sentiment indeed. He handed me the phone. "There you are, brother. I hope it's contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight."

"I'm certain it will." I was proud of him. He walked off.

"If you are kind lock her up, otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll last very long without her protection."

"Are you expecting me to beg?" She pleaded. 

He stopped at the door. "Yes."

"Please. You're right, I won't last six months."

Without looking at her he said, "Sorry about dinner." And with that he was gone. I turned to her. 

"So do you think me kind?" I smiled at her, a wolf's grin. She turned to me, fear lighting her dark eyes. 

"Please," she begged. "I'll do anything. I can tell you where Moriarty is!" I chuckled cruelly. 

"I already know where he is." I turned away from her and started calling Harry. As it rang through I uttered the word with such finality.

"Go."

***

Sherlock graduated from college with a practical chemistry degree and things seemed to going well for him for the first time in his life. I had been appointed to the foreign office, finally landing my dream job. 

I suppose that what the problem was. We were happy and he couldn't stand that we could be. How we could be happy without her. Sherlock found him. I got the call just as I was on my way to meet the Prime Minister. 

"Sir? It's from your brother." My secretary told me. 

"Oh what is it now!" I picked up the phone.

"What?" I was in no mood to miss this meeting. 

"You need to come home." I rolled my eyes.

"I really am too busy for some little problem you might be having."

"You come home right now!"

"Sherlock, I am meeting the Prime Minister in a half hour can't this wait?"

"Do what you like. It your house now, Mycroft." He hung up on me. And I thought for a moment. What did he mean it was my house now? The only way Darkwood Manor would be mine was if oh god. 

"Cancel all my meetings and send the deepest apologies to the Prime Minister. I have a family emergency."

I grabbed my coat and strolled out the door. I was back home within two hours. I saw the police running around. 

"He killed himself, Mycroft." And he threw the note at me. I picked it up off the floor and sunk to my knees.

_To my boys-_

_I'm glad that you are both happy with your lives. I never could be with mine. Not after your mother died. I had been wanting to do this for quite sometime. But I had to make sure you were all grown and able to take care of yourselves._

_I hope you do not think less of me._

_Your father_

The funeral was even smaller than mother's. He had pushed everyone away. The only reason his law firm even tolerated him at all was because even though he couldn't stand up in court anymore he could write better than all of the partners combined. And he made them look good in court. 

It was me and Sherlock and handful of the partners from his firm. Sherlock looked shattered. I wondered what would happen next. I thought I would be prepared. I was wrong. 

***

On a case like this I decided to follow John wishes, just this once. I didn't kidnap him and I stood outside the cafe next to their flat, smoking a cigarette. It was a down pour. So my umbrella was actually being used for its intended purpose. 

About half way through my cigarette, John finally showed. "You don't smoke." He told me. 

"I also don't frequent cafes." I dropped the cigarette on the pavement and crushed it under my heel. I grabbed my suitcase and closed the umbrella so that we could talk inside. 

I pulled out a case file out of the brief case and set it in front of me. 

John took a sip of his tea before he asked, "It's the file on Irene Adler?"

"Closed forever. I'm about to inform my brother- or if you prefer you are- that she got herself into a witness protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive and thrive but he will never see her again."

"Why would he care? He despised her in the end. Won't even call her by her name, just 'The Woman'."

"Is that loathing," I asked, "or a salute? One of a kind, the one woman who matters?"

"He's not like that. He doesn't feel things that way." He paused unsure. "I don't think."

I hissed out a breath. "My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to a detective. What might we deduce from his heart?"

"I don't know," John whispered.

I sat back. "Neither do I. But initially he wanted to be a pirate."

"He'll be okay with this, witness protection, not seeing her again, he'll be fine." He moved back to the topic on hand. 

"I agree. That why I decided to tell him that."

"Instead of what?" Damn. I forgot that John was far cleverer than most people I deal with. 

"She's dead. She was captured by terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded."

"It was definitely her? She's done this before."

"I was thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me and I don't think was on hand, do you? So" I slid the file over to John. I rested my head my intertwined fingers, my elbows propped up on the table. "What should we tell Sherlock?"

***

He started acting out after that. Being prone to violent rages and destructive behavior. And I let him. I figured he was a grown man he could take care himself. I was busy. Or so I told myself. Had I been paying attention I would have noticed the signs. 

"My mind rages!" He screamed at me. "Give me problems! Give me work!" I rolled my eyes. 

"For god sake Sherlock, calm yourself." He sat on the chair in front of me his legs curled up on the seat, his arms wrapped them as he swayed back and forth. He looked up at me eyes wild. 

"You're the only one that can help me Mycroft. The police think I'm a young idiot that doesn't know anything! You have to tell them what I can do. Please!" Sherlock was starting to get manic. I had never seen this before. But then I suppose with school his mind was always occupied in some form. But perhaps it was merely the pain of losing our father in a similar manner to our mother that brought this on. 

I wrote a small note on piece of paper and handed it to him. He looked at it rolled his eyes at me. 

"I don't need a doctor Mycroft, I need problems."

"You have plenty of your own, you don't need others."

I knew he went to the doctor, what I didn't know is that the man boiled down to being a drug dealer. My colleges had recommended him on the sheer basis that he could get them any drug they needed. 

Because he was manic the idiot gave Sherlock morphine. And when that stopped working heroin. 

I found my brother strung out on his couch. His flat smelled like urine and sulfur. 

"Sherlock" I asked through the smoke. 

"Hmm" I could here him and made my way to the center of the room, using my umbrella to navigate through the debris. I looked down on him and he was pale and thin. Far thinner than he should be. I saw several empty packs of cigarettes and a half empty one. There were bottles of alcohol littered around him. 

He saw me looking at the bottles. "The alcohol does nothing." His voice was detached. 

"And what about the other stuff in your veins?" I asked. 

"It calms my brain. I don't have to think anymore. I don't even dream anymore."

I didn't know what to do. But I shouldn't have walked out that door. And yet perhaps it was the best thing that could have happened to him. 

***

I was planning on having a nice quiet afternoon at my club. Of course my brother had other ideas. He always did enjoy yanking my chain as the saying goes. Except this time he did more than yank my chain. He stole a top secret clearance badge. 

I got the text alert letting me know that I was currently in Dartmoor at the Baskerville facility. I rolled my eyes. There was only one person would dare impersonate me. And I immediately texted him.

 _What are you doing?_ \- M

The response I got was a jab at my abilities. I don't understand what I did to deserve a brother like this one. Clearly in a former life I must have been a terrible person. I had no doubts the alarms were going off and that he would be carted off to be experimented on. And while I didn't doubt that thought the thought had some merit, there was no telling what they'd do with the information. 

I got a call from a Major Barrymore chewing me out for dropping in on _his_ facility. 

"May I remind you Major that while you may have free reign of the place there will be time that your government would want to see where its money has been going."

"Of course," he grumbled. "I just assumed that I would be told if there were any concerns."

"Well, like Captain Watson was quick to point out, it wouldn't be much of a spot check if you were warned, now would it?" 

"I can't believe that I was outsmarted by a man of lower rank." 

"Well, from what I understand the only reason he's isn't a higher rank is because Captain is a high as an enlisted man can get even if he is a doctor. You army chaps always trying to keep the common man in their place. Tsk tsk." The man snarled something unintelligible and hung up on me. Good heavens I was turning into Sherlock. Defending John like that. 

But then I supposed that John was worthy of such merit. He stuck by my brother for over a year when most people ran screaming after two minutes. He did help my brother in ways I never thought were possible. He had been the making of Sherlock. Everyone could see how much better Sherlock had become just by his association with the ex-army doctor. 

But he need one more person to make it complete. He had his doctor. Now all he needed was his inspector and this nonsense would be solved in no time at all and I could back to my current, if unpleasant task.

***

I got a call on an early Tuesday morning at about 3 am. 

"Hello Mr. Holmes?" came the cockney accent on the other end.

"Yes." I had been awake working on the current crisis. 

"I didn't wake you, did I?" His concern was evident.

"No, I was up working. What can I help you with"

"Detective Inspective Lestrade." He supplied. _Oh god. He's killed himself_ , I thought numbly. 

"How can I help you Detective Inspector?"

"It's about your brother Sherlock."

"It always is." My tone was bitter. 

"He was arrested on drug charges soliciting from an undercover cop. And I'll be damned if he didn't know he was dealing with a cop." 

A small smile appeared on my lips. Of course he knew it was an undercover cop but why did he continue to try and buy drugs from them?

"Apparently, he wanted a place to sleep tonight and didn't want to bother you." Oh. 

"I can come get him if you like?" I asked. 

"Nah, he'll be okay here tonight but you'd like to stop by in the morning that'd be great."

"Very well Inspector, thank you for informing me."

"Have a good night Mr. Holmes."

I arrived the station first thing in the morning and was greeted by a man about my age but his hair had already turned a gorgeous shade of silver.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade I presume?" We shook hands. Once the niceties were out of the way he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Follow me if you please." He led me to the detox cages and moved all the way down the line to end.

There sprawled out the floor was Sherlock, his eyes closed and his palms and fingers pressed firmly together under his chin, if he had been a spiritual man, one would have assumed my bay brother was praying. I knew otherwise. He was thinking. 

"Inspector Lestrade, you'll find the murderer's case on the north side of Thames river. He dropped it there in hopes no one would find it."

"Now how would you know that?" the poor detective exclaimed. 

"Oh it's obvious. I overheard the facts from the two sergeants. It is the only location close to the scene with low chance of being seen with the type of soil found on the man's boot and pant leg. In addition water he'd assume would ruin the pages found within. What he didn't know however is that case he used was a special one that was waterproof. You'll be able to find everything you need to convict him in that case."

He opened his eyes and they were clear as the day he was born. "Hello, Mycroft. Come to bail me out?"

"Yes, brother dear."

I heard later from Lestrade that not only had Sherlock been right about the location, the briefcase was water proof and all the information contained there in safe. Sherlock really did seem to need cases to survive. 

I called Lestrade into my office a few days later. 

"Detective Inspector, please sit down."

"You can call me Greg," he said, extending his hand to me. I shook it and he sat down.

"Greg, then. How do you feel about my brother?" 

"You mean as a person or as something else?"

"As a person. How did you get along with him?"

"Fine I guess. He doesn't seem like most addicts I've met. Once he overheard the case, he sobered up faster than I'd seen before. It was incredible how he worked it all out just from hearing about it."

"How would you feel about having him consult on a couple of your difficult cases? Just as a way to get him out of the house. You wouldn't have to pay him."

"I suppose I could. I mean I know he's not much younger than I am but I can't help think of him as a child, you know?"

"I do."

"I'm guessing you're the older brother, why didn't you get him help?"

"Because he wouldn't take it from me. We have what you might call a difficult relationship. Things have been hard on him his whole life and I think this will honestly help."

"All right then. Just one or two mind, I'm not calling him on every case."

"That would be fine."

He got up and moved toward the door, at its threshold he paused and turned back to me. 

"Mr. Holmes?"

I looked up, "Hmm?"

"I- never mind." And he swiftly closed the door behind him. He was an interesting fellow and I vowed to keep my eye on him.

***

He was dashing to work, coming back from a trip, when I pulled along side him. 

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, if you please." I told him as my man opened the door for him. 

He turned and pointed up at the New Scotland Yard sign. "I was just-"

"It's been taken care of. Please get in, Greg." 

"Well- I-" he sighed and got into the car without much protest. 

"You know I'm starting to think John has a point. You like kidnapping people. It makes you feel powerful."

"I don't need to kidnap people to feel powerful. I have enough it, thank you." 

"The shadowy steward pulling the strings in the background." I blinked slightly at his apt analogy.

"Quite."

"So what's he done this time?" He asked after a moment of silence. 

"Oh well you know my brother. Knee deep into trouble. And I'm afraid that it's actually criminal this even out right treasonous if I were to be honest about the whole thing."

"Treasonous? Sherlock?"

"Yes well he wouldn't think so certainly. You see like he takes your police badges he has taken one of my IDs and has gotten himself into trouble and I would like you to go down there and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"I'm guessing the ID he took was to a super secret military base."

"Yes. How did you know?" He had surprised me twice. In less than five minutes. No one had ever done that before.

He chuckled. "Because it's the only place that I could see Sherlock wanting to break into." I smiled wanly. The inspector knew my brother all too well. 

"Will you do it?" I asked. 

"I just got back from holiday. I don't have anymore time off available."

It was my turn to chuckle. "Oh that's already been taken care of too." He stared at me shocked. "Any other objections, Inspector?"

"No. So where is this super secret military base anyway?"

"Dartmoor." 

***

I had thought he was doing well. He seemed to thrive on the cases Lestrade was throwing his way. But somehow it wasn't enough. Between a particularly bad bout of not having cases, he overdosed on heroin. After all not of Lestrade's cases required help or were interesting enough. And chasing that high was the only thing he lived for. 

Lestrade found him. He was coming over with a particularly interesting case about a missing thoroughbred and a murdered man, when he found Sherlock lying on the floor, thankfully on his side so he hadn't drown in his own vomit. The first call had been to the emergency line. The second one had been to me. 

"Mr. Holmes? He's done it again." I cursed and told him to meet me at the hospital. They had managed to save his life. But what a life it was. 

"That's enough of that." I told him as strolled deliberately into his hospital room. 

"Go away Mycroft. This isn't any of your business." He looked away from me.

"Like hell, it isn't. How do you think it looks on me if I have a brother who's a drug addict?" 

"It's always about you isn't? You and fucking career. Well piss off Mycroft. I don't need you."

"The Inspector was telling me that this time you will be forced into rehab. There is no escaping it."

"Fine. I don't care."

"I have found a nice place in Florida for you. Sunny beaches, quiet and respectful."

"And far away from you. I like it."

"Sherlock"

"Go away, Mycroft."

He came back six months later with clear eyes and a firm resolve to stay clean. He had even managed to help a lady he met there with a small problem she was having with her abusive husband. 

"You need something other than just police cases Sherlock."

"I've taken up smoking again. It's relaxing."

"Besides that."

He just smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my god. I am so so sorry. The real life bus hit me going 150 mph, I swear. So here is the part you've all been waiting for.
> 
> And oh dear god the errors...just remember this is pre-old ping hai. And therefore full of mistakes.

"Hello, brother dear. How are you?" I cringed. I thought things would have been handled by now. But no here he was pestering me again.

"What do you want Sherlock?" He rarely called and it was never pleasant. 

"I want to get back into Baskerville."

"Like hell. You have caused quite enough trouble there for at least a decade. I'm not letting you anywhere nearer to that place then you currently are."

"Why haven't you solved it yet? You have everything you need." 

"Not quite. I need to get into one of the labs to test a hypothesis."

"But you don't want just the one lab do you Sherlock."

"That would fantastic! Thank you, Mycroft. I'll text you the details." And he then he hung up on me. I was starting to see a pattern. Apparently being a Holmes meant that we couldn't say good-bye we just hung up on each other. 

_I think a drug is being used and I need to test it on an average mind._ -SH

 _Why do I have a feeling this is not going to turn out well?_ \- M

 _It'll be fine_. -SH

I wish I could have believed him but somehow he had convinced me to let him play this little game. I just hoped no one get hurt in the process. Least of all John. 

I called Major Barrymore. After I explained what had happened before and he got done with the swearing, we got down to business.

"I suggest you do this Major." I told him. 

"Why?" he was furious at being duped. 

"Because I am one of the few people in the entire country that could pull your funding." My voice took on its most dangerous tone. " _Completely_."

"I see. And what exactly am I suppose to do?"

"Afford him every courtesy. And I mean _every_ courtesy."

"Do I have to stay the whole time?" 

I laughed. "No. There is only one man that can stand being with my brother for any length of time and you've met him."

"I'm assuming you are referring to the man that was with him? Capt. Watson was it?"

"Yes. He'll be along too."

"Very well. Good day Mr. Holmes."

"Good bye." 

I was grateful to learn that the case was wrapped up that night. I wasn't pleased to learn however that it took hacking into Maj. Barrymore's clearance to do so. The apologizing I had to do on that one took me days. Days that I didn't have. 

***

It would be a few months before I found out what his plan had been. I was surfing through the internet and came across a website, The Science of Deduction. I rolled my eyes and called my brother. 

"Sherlock"

"How do you like the new site, Mycroft? I have decided to make money off our little game. You said I needed more than police cases. So I'll take on other people's problems too. Provided they're interesting."

"Like a private detective?" That sounded dreadful.

"Well I'd like to think of it as more like a consulting detective. I can consult on police cases and consult on other cases that come my way."

"I've never heard of a consulting detective before." Only my brother. I shook my head.

"That's because I invited the job, Mycroft. Don't you see? This is the answer. What I've been looking for my whole life."

I shook my head and let the call end. I was worried about the reason behind all this. Why did he take such delight in murders and crime? I supposed I would never know. That Sherlock would just keep going on as he always had. 

***

That night I took an unmarked car to a place that would have given Baskerville a run for its money in terms of sheer nastiness factor. The Americans had Guantanamo, we had this place. I made my way through the vast tunnels. It's twists and turns. I knew the way. It was a path I had taken many times since the incident with Miss Adler. 

There he sat, like a fat spider in the middle of gigantic web. He was in straight jacket having the privilege of having his hands free taken away from him. He had used it to scratch a name into every surface of his little cell. 

He stared back at me. Those piercing brown eyes searing through me. He knew what was coming. I wish I could have said the same. How I wished I had known that this spider would turn my whole world upside down. 

"Let him go." Those three little words that would change the face of the world. In hindsight I wish I had put a bullet into his brain. 

He smiled up at me. He knew that letting him go was the only way to get what we wanted. That god damn code. My masters wanted it and they would have it no matter the cost. The spider shrugged out of his straightjacket and without a single backward glance walked out, the two men following him. The third man the one that had released him from his bonds walked further into the room, staring in shock at the force he must have used to write the name over and over again. 

The man: Jim Moriarty. The name: Sherlock.

***

I spent a good portion of his time in Florida hunting the object down. I was disappointed to learn its fate but its sad story only spurned me on to find one comparable. 

I had learned the fate of the violin my father had gotten to replace the one I had burned. My brother had pawned it to get money for his drug habit. I tracked down the shop he had taken it to only to find that it had been sold to a young couple. I next tracked down the couple and they had given it to to their nephew. Finding nephew was harder than the others as the family moved about quite often. Once found however, it became the end of a rather fruitless journey. 

He didn't want to learn how to play it anymore and deliberately sat on it. 

It meant however that I would have to find a violin that he would like, that would match the tone he wanted. And not having him here for that made it difficult. But if I wanted it to be a present I would have to use my abilities to their fullest. 

I disregarded the Italian Masters right away. Stradivarius and Guarneri would have to be guarded night and day. And my brother would feel the pressure of it all and never play the damn thing. Which would be counter to the point of getting it for him. I moved to the French and German masters instead. The works of Steiner and Roth were well enough but it didn't quite have the tone I was looking for.

I finally found one that fit him perfectly. It was a rare Pierre Silvestre, it had a beautiful cherry finish and tone that would fill the room. 

When my brother came back from Florida I sat in his flat and waited for him to walk in. 

"So this is why you weren't at the airport." He came in and threw his luggage in the corner. 

He stopped up short when he saw the package. "What is this, Mycroft?" I smiled. 

"Deduce it, Sherlock." He ran his hands over the package he held it up gently, looking at it from all angles. 

"It's a violin. An antique judging from the wrapping. I would have to open it to guess the maker."

"Do so then."

He unwrapped it carefully, even more so knowing what it was. He pulled the case out of the box and his long fingers danced over the surface. 

"I'd say French." He told me. This just from the case. 

"Go on." He opened it, the strings were loose. Within minutes the violin was perfectly tuned. He pulled out the bow and resined it up. He tightened it and placed the bow to the strings. He drew out a long mournful note. He closed his eyes as he bent to the music. It was beautiful and heartbreaking. 

"Pierre Silvestre. Mycroft where on earth did you find one?" I smiled. 

"Not going to tell me are you? Well, I'll just keep this shall I?" He gestured to the violin in his hands. 

"Well, it's for you after all." I got up and reached the door to exit when I heard the barest whisper. 

"Thank you." 

I would be the last time I heard it play so beautifully. He would take pleasure in playing it badly whenever I was around. I think he was trying to get me to tell him where I found it. But I would never tell. Not even now.

***

"So you can't even say pass the sugar?" John asked as I moved about the small room. 

"With the diplomatic corp and half the british government, it's better for all those involved. We don't want a repeat of 1972. But we can talk in here."

"You read these?" John picks up the tabloid.

"Caught my eye. Saturday they're doing a big exposé."

"I'd like to know where she got her information," he was very upset.

"Called Brook. Recognize the name?"

He shook his head, "Old school friend maybe?"

"Of Sherlock's?" I laugh. "But that's not why I asked you here." I moved to pick up the files I had drawn up. I handed him the first.

"Who's that?" he asked as he opened the file.

"Know his name? He's taken a flat on Baker St. two doors down from you?"

"I was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbors." His dry wit didn't amuse me.

I smiled sardonically, "Not sure you'd want to. Suli Mari. Albanian expertly trained killer, living less then twenty feet from you front door." 

"Well it's a great location, jubilee like. What's it got to do with me?" I handed him another file.

He opened it and frowned. "I think I've seen her."

"Russian killer she occupies the flat opposite."

"OkayI'm sensing a pattern here."

"In fact four international assassins have relocated within spitting distance of 221B, anything you care to share with me?"

"I'm moving?" Again with that wit. I'd swear he would be dying and still crack jokes. 

"So hard to guess the common denominator, isn't it?" My own biting wit came out. 

"You think this is Moriarty?" He seemed well not surprised but resigned.

"He promised Sherlock he'd come back," And I would know seeing as I had been the one that had released him back into the world. 

"If this was Moriarty we'd be dead already."

"If not Moriarty then who?" Seriously after all these months with Sherlock he was still dense.

"Why don't you talk to Sherlock if you are so concerned about him? Oh god don't tell me"

"Too much history between us John, old scores, resentments."

"Nicked his Smurfs? Broke your action man?" He looked at me. "Finished?"

"We both know what's coming John. Moriarty is obsessed to destroy his only rival."

"So, you want me to watch out for your brother because he won't accept your help?"

"If it's not too much trouble?" I sneered at the thought. 

***

I checked out everyone my brother associated with. Even the ones that didn't know he was becoming friends with. If he mentioned them more than once I rushed to check them out. Of course John was a special case, things moved faster with John than with anyone I had ever seen. 

When he mentioned the new pathologist, I wanted to meet her. Of course I used the guise of identifying a body. She didn't need to know she was being watched after all. I stood outside the morgue waiting for her. She came out with her head down looking over her list. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw my feet. 

"Oh hello. Are you here to- um" she looked behind her to the morgue. "I was expecting someone else." she admitted. 

"Yes, well. I'm _Mycroft_ Holmes." I said as I extended my hand out to her. She took shyly and shook it once before letting go. 

"Oh. Hence the Mr. Holmes on my list." I smiled at her.

"I don't suppose you were expecting a Sherlock Holmes?" I inquired a small smile graced my lips.

She blushed. "Any relation?" she asked, almost hopeful. 

"I'm here to see Jenny Haypenny, Miss Hooper." 

"Oh, yes of course." She moved back and forth unsure which direction to turn. "This way." She turned around and led me back to the morgue. 

She unzipped the bag. I nodded my acknowledgement of who it was. 

"Is this the first- I mean is this your first time having to ID a body?" I looked at her and the look in my eyes must have told her something that I didn't realize because the next words out her mouth were, "Oh sorry. Were you close?"

I stepped back. "It was my father. How did you know?" She just shrugged. She had inner depth. It was not something I was expecting. This little mouse of a thing, could tell what a person was feeling just by looking at them. That made her perfect for watching out for Sherlock. She would do it without needing compensation. 

"You look like him you know" she said as she zipped back up the body. 

"Hmm" I inquired. I had been lost in thought over her ability to see through people. 

"Sherlock. You look like Sherlock." She told me.

"Ah you know, you're the first person in years to say so. We looked alike as children but as we grew older, he took after mummy and I took after father."

"Brothers?" I nodded. "So that means his father is dead too?" 

"Yes."

"That's sad."

I chuckled softly. "Well, I suppose. Good day, Miss Hooper." I walked off, she moved forward as if she wanted to say something more but she stepped back and looked back at the body sadly. 

"Is there something more you needed Miss Hooper?" I asked her, taking pity on the girl.

"No, not really. Good day Mr. Holmes." I never did find out what she had meant to say that day in the morgue. But I knew she would be good for Sherlock in some way. I hoped, vainly that maybe he would turn to her for affection. In fact a couple years later when the hospital was forcing to cut back on staff I used my influence to make sure she wasn't one of the one cut. She never knew of course. She just thought herself lucky. 

***

When I got to my club I got handed a message that a Dr. John Watson was waiting for me in the guest room. I sighed and made my way there. The door was open and I could tell from the tightness of his shoulders that he was upset. 

"She really done her homework, this Miss Reilly knows things only someone close to Sherlock would know."

"Ah." So he had figured it out. It was a matter of time after all. I sat down.

"Have you seen your brother's address book lately? Two names, yours and mine. And Moriarty didn't get this stuff from me." 

"John"

"So how does it work then? Your relationship? You go out for coffee? Now and then. Your own brother and blabbed about his entire life to this maniac." He was waving the papers in his hands around angrily. 

"I never intended - I never dreamt-" 

"This, thi-this is what you were trying to tell me, isn't it? 'Watch his back because I've made a mistake'." He put the papers down. "How'd you meet him?"

"People like him, we know about them, we watch them. But James Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen. And in his pocket the ultimate weapon. The key code. A few line of computer code that can unlock any door."

"And you abducted him? To try and find the key code?"

"We interrogated him for weeks."

"Then?"

"And then nothing he just sat there staring into the darkness. The only thing that made him open up, I could get him talk. Just a little. But"

"In return you had to offer him Sherlock's life story." He was beyond angry now. He was livid."So one big lie, 'Sherlock is a fraud' and people will swallow it because the rest of it is true. Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition." He stood up.

"John, I'm sorry." He scoffed at me. "Tell him would you?" I watched as he stormed off. I buried my head in my heads. I hadn't felt this low since the incident with that _damn_ woman. But Sherlock had pulled out of it in the end. Surely he could do so again? I honestly didn't know.

***

I walked into Sherlock's flat with disgust. It was small, cramped and starting to smell with what ever experiment he had been working on that week. 

"This is terrible Sherlock. You need to find another place to live."

"It's all I can afford." I rolled my eyes. 

"Find somewhere else." I walked out. A couple days later I heard he found a place with the lady he helped out in Florida but he would need help paying the rent even after the discount she was willing to offer him.

I figured it was time to meet this woman, the one he simply called Mrs. Hudson. 

I did some digging before though. It wouldn't do for any surprises. 

"Mrs. Abigail Hudson formerly of Jacksonville, Florida?" I asked as she came into my office. 

"Yes. And there is no need to tell me who you are Mr. Holmes." I smiled. 

"Very clever. How did you know?"

"I've been a mother Mr. Holmes. I can tell when I meet brothers. You're more the quiet, whiskey at the club type, preferring others to your work for you."

"How could you tell?" 

She just smiled at me.

"So Sherlock will be staying at one of the flats you are renting out at" I looked through the book. "221 Baker St." 

"Yes. 221B."

"And what exactly did he do for you in Florida?"

"He made sure my husband went to the electric chair."

"And why would that be a favor for you?"

"The victim was our son." Her eyes turned cold and all motherly pretense dropped. Of course that explained the past tense she used 'I've been' not 'I am'. 

"My condolences." I told her. 

She smiled. "It's all right dearie." she looked at her watch. "I really must be going. I have to show the flat to Sherlock, he's bring over someone to look at it." She stood. "I'm hopping it's a nice girl. He needs the company."

Little did either of us know exactly the type of person he was bringing over. The person that would change Sherlock. For the better. Dr. John Watson, formerly of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, just invalided from Afghanistan. 

***

I sat there at my club unable to think. Let alone breathe. All I could think about was my last meeting with John and how he tore into me for selling my brother down the river. I thought I had done it for the greater good. I thought Sherlock would survive. He always had before. 

Everything thing that had been thrown at him he had overcome somehow. Everything but his reputation being ruined. That had broken him. Or perhaps it was some perceived danger that John might have been in. Those two would do anything for each other. They were closer than he and I ever were and we were brothers. 

A tear slipped down my cheek and I didn't bother to wipe it away. I pulled out a small scrap of cloth out of my suit pocket. It use to be white once upon a time. Now it was dingy and grey with dark spots covering most of it. I closed my eyes and let the tears flow silently down my face. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I looked up to see one of the page boys holding out a note for me.

It read:

_Someone in the guest room to see you_

I didn't want to see anyone but I didn't have a way to communicate that so I went to office and told the person waiting there, "Look, I'm in no mood to speak with anyone today. I lost my brother and" I choked up, I clutched the cloth tightly in my fist. 

A warm baritone reached my ears, "Caring, Mycroft? I thought caring wasn't an advantage." I looked up, in the chair that John had occupied mere hours ago, was Sherlock. My brother. I sunk to my knees.

"Oh, god. You- you're alive." I buried my head into my hands. "I thought I lost you." I choked through my tears. I felt arms wrap around me as I cried with joy. My own arms wrapped around him and I clung to him like a life line.

I left a finger touch the cloth I kept clutched in my hand.

"What's this?" He asked me as he gently pulled it away from me.

"Give it back," I pleaded.

"I will if you tell me what it is."

"It's my promise."

"A promise of what?"

"The only one I had. The only one I broke. My biggest regret."

"Is this what I think this is?" I could only nod. "What happened to caring wasn't an advantage?"

"How do you think I knew caring wasn't an advantage? It was something that had continued to plague me my whole life. No matter what I did, I couldn't protect you. I tried. Dear god did I try."

He sat stunned for a moment. And then he said, "I need your help Mycroft. Please?" I looked up at the face of the man I had been mourning just moments before. 

"Hide me. Please. No one can know I'm alive. Lives depend on this, please?" He pleaded. 

"Whose?" My voice cracked. 

"John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh god, Sherlock. Your friends? Why?" He pulled away from me and sat back on the chair and I moved to the other chair. I wanted to touch him, grab him, hold him close and never let him go. But how I managed to mention composure I'll never know. Perhaps it was merely the years of practice. 

"Moriarty. He said- he said- oh god Mycroft!" He buried his head in his hands. I got up and crouched next his chair and muttered soothing words as he sobbed. I reached up and rubbed his back in smooth circles until the sobbing slackened. 

"He had snipers. Said if I didn't jump, he'd- he'd-" he couldn't finish but it was clear what he meant. 

"Is there anyone else who knows?" I was honored that he told me. But there was no way that I could be the only one who knew. 

"Molly Hooper." Well that made sense. He needed someone to fake the death certificate. 

"Anyone else?"

"No. I paid some people to help me but they didn't know what was going on. They think I actually died. I paid one to knock John down so wouldn't get to me before I had time to setup the death. I paid a few others to keep John from closely examining me. But I believe they thought that I just didn't want John to see me like that. I took a drug that slowed my pulse so that even the doctors thought I was dead. I wanted to laugh at them. How could they think that with my 'injuries' that I could have died?" He sounded so bitter. 

"I already miss him." I blinked not sure who he was referring to and then it hit me.

"John?" He nodded. "What will you do?"

"Hide. And hope no one finds me." He looked up at me, his beautiful blue eyes rimmed red. "Please help me. Help me keep my friends from danger." I grasped my arms around my baby brother and held him close. 

"Anything."

***

Hello, my name is Mycroft Holmes and today I learned to believe in miracles. Today against all odds my baby brother returned to me.


End file.
